


Sketch of the Day (series)

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-10 19:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: Little mini-fics and scenes inspired by Rutbisbe's 'sketch the day' art.





	1. Inhale

**Author's Note:**

> These are drabbles/flash fiction, each 'chapter' inspired by a sketch illustrated by Rutbisbe. The chapters are not necessarily connected or related to each other.

**Inhale**

 

Vegeta loved the way she smelled. He could admit that to himself long before he was ever able to admit the depth of his feelings for the woman herself. His keen sense of smell could always pick Bulma up in a crowd, her scent imprinted on him, haunting him day and night like an wayward poltergeist. 

In the mornings before he trained, she smelled like coffee and osmanthus perfume. In the evenings, after he had returned from the GR and she from her lab, it was motor oil, smoke, and metal. On nights when he visited her bed, she smelled of vanilla body-wash and musky feminine arousal. That was his second favorite. His first was the way she smelled in the early pre-dawn, when she slept soundly next to him. It was then that she smelled of herself, her skin rich with the scent of _Bulma_. She was female, sweet and earthy, her aroma mixed only with the evidence of their activities that had dried upon on her skin. Marked by him, she wore his scent like a perfume.

The sky lightened as the sun crept towards the horizon. He would watch her soft slow breaths as she dreamed in his arms, far too trusting, unaware as he pulled her in for a long, selfish breath of her neck.

His Bulma.

* * *

~xox~

 

AN: Written for Rutbisbe, inspired by her art: <http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168023796721/sketch-of-the-day-a-huge-warm>


	2. Inhale 2

**Inhale 2**

 

 

Bulma loved the way he smelled. She had from the beginning, even when Vegeta reeked of perspiration and frustration. There was something primal and animal-like about it. About him.

He was intoxicating. Contradictory. Violent yet restrained. Rude, though he valued respect. Hot headed but amazingly analytical. And he was one of the few men she knew who enjoyed being clean, despite laboring endlessly to work up a sweat. He was a creature of destruction and chaos, but also one of habit and discipline. Like clock-work, he left the GR each evening to prowl into her house, exhausted and dripping with sweat. Drenched in it, smelling of salt, pheromones, and masculine musk, he claimed Capsule Corporation as his like a great cat marking its territory.

Then, regrettably, he would shower it all away to emerge clean and steaming. Reducing her to press his dirty laundry against her nose so that she could inhale his smell deep into the pit of her belly, letting it roll over her like a fur blanket. He was no Earth man, she could smell that as easily as she could see it, and she loved that about him too.

He would come to her freshly showered, smelling of amber or cedar wood soap. Powerful arms held her carefully even when he was being rough - another of his endearing contradictions. As she helped him work up a second sweat, his broad body swathed over her like a living blanket, she would press her nose against the spot where his hair met his neck, and _breathe_.

Her prince.

* * *

~xox~

 

Inspired by Rutbisbe’s sketch: [http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168057185936/sketch-of-the-day-another-breathing-in-the-neck](http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168023796721/sketch-of-the-day-a-huge-warm)

 


	3. Onsen

**Onsen**

 

The tip of Vegeta’s tail flicked restlessly, curled tightly about his waist as he watched the steam rise up from the hot-spring. Arms folded over his bare chest, he narrowed his eyes, scanning the area for any threats.

“Oh, you’re not in yet?” Bulma asked from behind.

He turned to look and had to steel himself against the sight of her. She strutted out shamelessly naked, a vision of creamy perfection. From her bow little smirk to her pretty pink toes, there was no safe place to look. The lines of Bulma’s body flowed and ebbed like rolling water, slender and delicate in some places, soft and curvy in others. Her tiny pink nipples peaked charmingly, noticeably rosy against her pale breasts. A dusting of blue neatly-trimmed fur decorated her mound. He had seen it all before but never quite like this. Usually there was little time to admire, the two of them huddled in some dark or cramped space, tearing off her clothes in a frenzy. But here he could appreciate the full view of her, a goddess of the mountains emerging from the mist and trees. Vegeta averted his eyes back to the steaming water, feeling oddly unworthy.

“I was waiting for you,” he grumbled.

“Worried about me?” she teased in a low voice.

He shot her a withering side-eyed glare. 

The steam curled up between them, a fae curtain that didn’t hide the smile she wore just for him. It was wide and beautiful, threatening to crack the hard shell of armor about his heart.

“How’s your new toy?” she asked.

They both glanced at the tail about his waist that her scientific genius had helped him restore. He saw the way she drank it in, could read the desperation in her eyes to touch it, examine it, assault him with a barrage of incessant questions like she always did when confronted with some new discovery. The hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Haven’t tested it out yet,” he said.

Her eyes shone, thirsty for any tidbit of information. “Test it? You mean, the Great Ape form?”

“No, there are other uses,” he replied enigmatically, his lop-sided smile widening. He allowed his new appendage to unwind from his waist, slow and sinuous, before nudging the tip against the plump underside of her ass. Caressing her, Bulma’s skin goose-pimpled and a delicious tremor ran through her. Vegeta felt himself respond, heat pooling and swelling in his nether-regions. 

“We should definitely experiment,” she told him breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.

For once, he willing agreed to play her guinea pig.

 

* * *

~xox~

 **AN:** >;)

Inspired by Rutbisbe’s mountain-onsen sketch: [http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168090129011/sketch-of-the-day-some-onsen-time-deep-in-the](http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168023796721/sketch-of-the-day-a-huge-warm)


	4. Cheek to Cheek

**Cheek to Cheek**

 

“No.”

“No?” Bulma repeated.

“No,” Vegeta confirmed. Adamantly. End of discussion. Or it would have been with any sane person who knew better than to argue with the Prince of Saiyans, but Bulma had never gotten that memo.

She put a hand upon her hip, glaring at him from across their bedroom in her tiny black cocktail dress. “Vegeta, it’s for our wedding,” she said with exasperation.

He looked away, not wanting the voluptuous curve of her hip or the alluring pout of her lips to sway him. “I will not make a spectacle of myself for the amusement of your friends.”

“It’s one dance,” she insisted stubbornly. “And it’s not for our friends, it’s for me…” her voice trailed off, losing its potency.

Vegeta cast her a wary look from the corner of his eyes. Small and fragile, Bulma looked as if the shadows of the night would spirit her away at any moment. He swallowed, scowling against the unsettling feelings stirring in his gut.

“Bulma, I…” can’t. He looked down, already seeing Kakarot and his friends making a mockery of him dancing, and he would be damned before they sullied what should be the most sacred day of his life. He glared up at her, fingers curling into fists. “I don’t see why it’s even necessary.”

“The wedding?” she asked, her hand going to her chest. Hurt.

Damnit. Was she willfully trying to misunderstand him? 

“Of course not the wedding. Dancing. And your stupid friends. How do our vows concern anyone else anyways? It’s— it’s a private matter.”

Bulma tilted her head to the side to better regard him. Her eyes softened. “What’s a private matter?” she asked, needling him for specifics.

Of course the clever wench would latch onto that part. He looked away, feeling heat rise to his face. “You know what,” he grumbled.

The soft pad of her feet heralded her approach before delicate fingers touched his arm. “You mean, your feelings of love and devotion for me?” she asked, her tone teasing.

“Tch,” he replied, desperately blushing now. 

“Come here,” she instructed, tugging him away from the wall he leaned against.

He grumbled but let her pull him against her. The warm kiss of her cheek to his was an instant calmative and the churning feelings inside him settled down. All that mattered was her. Bulma slid her hands about his waist, and he reciprocated. 

“Mmm, this is nice, isn’t it?” she asked, her breath softly caressing his skin.

“Hn,” he agreed.

“This is all I want, you know. Just a simple dance like this.”

Dance? It occurred to him that they were gently swaying. Well, if this was all that she required of him, he supposed he could oblige her, although it didn’t sit well with him that he would share such an intimate moment in front of others. 

“I still don’t see why we need to involved anyone else,” he grouched, even as his fingers tightened on the small of her back, enjoying the way her dress slipped sensuously against her skin.

“Because I want to show my strong, handsome husband off,” she whispered huskily in his ear, her hands slipping up to latch at the back of his neck and toy with the tufts of hair at his nape. “Besides, there’s a lot of things we can share in private after the ceremony.” She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Want a preview?”

He smirked, reservations melting away as he scooped her into his arms and her pale thighs wrapped greedily about him. Carrying her to their bed, Vegeta was more than willing to practice a different kind of dance with her, long into the night.

* * *

~xox~

 

 **AN:** Inspired by Rutbisbe’s piece: http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168126437031/sketch-of-the-day-some-comfort-cheek-to-cheek

 


	5. Seeing Red

**Seeing Red**

 

“What about Goku?”

“Goku? Well, hmm, let’s see… Orange?”

“Orange? You can’t just say that because it’s the color he wears most.”

“That is not why I chose that color. Think about it. Orange is, well, it’s energetic, and warm. Like Goku.”

“Huh… What do you think, Bulma?” 

Bulma pulled down her shades to look at Krillin, Oolong, Yamcha, and Puar who were all in her back yard enjoying her mother’s hospitality and trying to assign everyone a color. Didn’t these guys have anything better to do? Still, they had asked her a question, and Bulma wasn’t about to let the opportunity of enlightening them with her brilliant intellect to slip by. She took a sip of her cocktail, thinking it over. “Yes, I suppose Son is orange,” she finally agreed.

“See, I told you. Hey, what about you, Bulma? What color are you?”

Bulma smirked, preening at the opportunity to talk about herself. “Well, obviously I’m purple. The color of royalty and wisdom.”

Someone snorted. She glared at the group to decipher who the culprit was, but all four of them suddenly looked elsewhere. She humphed, deciding they weren’t worth her time, shoving her sunglasses up her nose and laying back to continue sunbathing. 

Soon enough, they picked their discussion back up. 

“What about… you know…” Yamcha said, voice lowered conspiringly, as if saying the man’s name would summon him. A strange quietness descended on the group.

“You mean, Vegeta?” Oolong braved.

“Yeah, him. Like, the guy’s gotta be black, right? Dark as his murderous heart. A devil.”

Bulma rolled her eyes.

“Well, maybe,” Krillin hesitated. “He did kind of save us back on Namek.”

“I doubt it was on purpose,” Yamcha scoffed.

Krillin said nothing to that, not confident enough in Vegeta’s motivations to argue the point. “Well, anyways, I was thinking he’s more blue. Serious, cold, but powerful. A bit sad.”

“Sad? Vegeta?! Krillin, did your brain get damaged when you were brought back to life?”

“That’s uncalled for. You weren’t even there when he begged—”

“You’re just saying that because he wears blue!”

“I am not!”

“Are too.”

“I’m most certainly—”

“Kami! Would you guys shut up already?!” Bulma shouted, sitting up and glaring at them. “You’re all a bunch of idiots going on and on about colors, and judging someone you barely even know too. Shame on you all. Besides,” she added, adjusting her curls with a delicate flick of her hand. “You’re wrong. Vegeta is red.”

* * *

~xox~

 

Red. It was the color of anger, of his screams of rage that echoed from the GR day in and out, and of the flash of frustration in his eyes whenever Goku was mentioned in his presence.

It was the color of blood that she washed from his uniform and stained his bandages when he pushed himself too hard. Too often.

It was the color of power and strength, qualities he exuded on a daily basis. Not just in training, but in everything he did. He needed that resilience to adapt to an unfamiliar world among people who loathed and distrusted him, with nothing more than the goal to be the best spurning him on. Pushing, pushing, always pushing his limits.

It was the color of danger, the GR burning with it, painting his muscles in harsh vermillion light as the intense bone-crushing force of the room tortured his body, minute after grueling minute. It tried to break the man who refused to be broken, his scars dark on his glistening skin, badges of honor from battles past won. _We will not break!_

It was the color of his home-world. He had admitted as much to her one night when they both stared out over her lush backyard, his eyes seeing something a lifetime ago and galaxies away.

It was even soaked into his skin, ochre and tanned from under the suns of other worlds he had destroyed. She loved watching the way his muscles rippled like rolling desert sands, and how her own pale complexion compared to his when their arms rested side by side on her balcony railing.

Red. It was the color of longing, lust, and passion. He sweated, grunted, his abdominals heaving, biceps bulging, forearms flexing. His eyes burned with a wild and intense fire, magnetizing her to the spot. Finally spent, he collapsed to his forearms, trembling and gasping for breath. As his hand reached for the GR’s power button to end his training, Bulma slipped away from the window to press a hand to her cheek that burned—

Red.

 

* * *

~xox~

 

 **AN:** Inspired by Rutbisbe’s jaw-dropping work: <http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168161912106/sketch-of-the-day-hot-red-sunday-training>


	6. Wired

**Wired**

 

Vegeta didn’t have to shout at her. Somehow intrinsically attuned to his presence, Bulma looked up from the device she was working on and took one look at his face before sighing, “Again? Fine, give me five minutes. Go glower at the birds or something while you wait.”

Vegeta scowled, but he knew better than to argue with her unless he wished for the GR to remain broken. Besides, the less he engaged with her the better. The way she talked to him was unnerving. The woman was so casual and dismissive, speaking to him as she did her idiot friends, as if he wasn’t an infamous mass-genocidal warrior born from the darkest parts of the universe that she should be treading more lightly around.

Putting her insolence aside for now, Vegeta went to the kitchens for a snack while he waited for the GR to be repaired. After he felt like a generous amount of time had lapsed, Vegeta made his way back to the GR, expecting to find it in working order once more.

Instead, he found a long column of pale thigh rising up to support a luscious ass that spilled out of the world’s tiniest shorts. 

 _Holy shit_. 

Bulma was half bent over the power core, tools and wires strewn about her. Gone was her modest white lab coat, replaced by a pair of skimpy black shorts, a pink tank top with her name audaciously stretched across her breasts, and a red cap that kept her silken locks out of her face as she tried to fix the wiring. Her firm figure glistened with sweat in the stuffy interior of the GR, made worse by the lack of a working AC.

The loud snap of her gum as she blew and burst a bubble jolted Vegeta back to the present.

“The hell is this?” He demanded. Meaning the still broken GR and not her provocative outfit. Mostly.

“Oh, Vegeta? Yeah, sorry stud, but it looks like you did a real number on it this time. It’ll probably take me a few hours to get it working again.”

Bulma wiped the back of her hand over her brow, brushing a large smear of motor oil across her face. Vegeta’s cheek twitched, refusing to acknowledge any such sentimentality as _cute_.

“Holy dragon balls, is it hot in here,” she exclaimed. Putting down her wrench, Bulma grabbed the hem of her shirt and started pulling it up.

Vegeta’s eyes bugged bigger than two moons before he hastily gave her his back. “WH-WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, WOMAN?” he demanded, appalled and flushed with a burst of heat that had nothing to do with the broken AC.

“Relax, I have a sports bra on.”

Considering how little clothing she was already wearing, Vegeta didn’t stick around to see how much a ‘sports bra’ would barely cover. He stormed out of the GR before the uncirculated heat of the enclosed space — and not her state of undress — messed with his head any more.

The sharp _pop_! of her bubble gum saluted his exit, sounding far too much like laughter. He grit his teeth, his cheeks as pink as her damnable candy.

* * *

~xox~

 

AN: Inspired by Rutbisbe’s work: <http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/168232567006/sketch-of-the-last-two-days-alls-fair-in-love>


End file.
